


Under the Skin

by I_prefer_the_term_antihero



Category: Original Work
Genre: Action/Adventure, Brother-Sister Relationships, Comedy, Fairy Tale Elements, Family, Fantasy, Gen, Original Character(s), Original Fiction, Siblings, fairy tale
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-26
Updated: 2020-11-26
Packaged: 2021-03-09 19:42:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,911
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27721595
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/I_prefer_the_term_antihero/pseuds/I_prefer_the_term_antihero
Summary: A magical stolen necklace, an underground ballroom, and maybe a good-old-fashioned monster or two. ...The fairy tales only got things half-right.|| When Wilith and her brother Casirai decided to steal from a witch they only meant to make it big money wise. They never realized it was stupid of them, really, not to see that stealing from a witch could only lead to one thing.
Relationships: Original Female Character & Original Male Character, Wilith & Casirai (Original Characters)





	Under the Skin

**Author's Note:**

> In my Sophomore year of high school, at the end of our unit on Chaucer's _Canterbury Tales_ , we had a short story competition where we each wrote a seven page original story. Our teacher picked her top three favorites out of all the classes, then read them aloud to the classes, and we voted on the winner.  
> I was picked as one of the top three. And though I didn't win overall (my friend did, though!), this was still a huge honor, especially because that teacher was difficult to impress and always had something to critique. Seeing that she had no critiques for me was incredibly validating. 
> 
> Anyways. I really adored that story myself too, and whenever I thought back to it I was proud and still thought it was really good.  
> But then, of course, I read it recently (it's been many years) and was like "This writing....ain't as good as I remember...." which, I mean, is understandable XD But still. Since I still think it's a great premise, I decided that this would be a great thing to try rewriting now as like a novella situation, and maybe even try to get published if I succeed in finishing it. So that's what this is!
> 
> If you could give this a read, and leave a comment it would be _incredibly_ motivating and helpful!!
> 
> Casirai is pronounced Kas-i-ray

“Come on comeon Come _on_!” Wilith bounced on her heels. Each second—(or what felt like it to Casirai)—she kept glancing over her shoulder, then to her brother, who was crouched by the door, tampering with the lock.

There was nothing and no one behind them to worry about besides a cluster of trees, and a few crows—and, they were creepy to be sure—but it was clear she thought they were on some sort of time limit. To be fair, they _were_. But her incessant glancing didn’t help him concentrate. 

“You wanna try doing this yourself?!” he demanded. 

After a bit more futzing and a healthy dose of percussive maintenance Casirai opened it, exclaiming “Got it!”

“Took ya long enough.”

He rolled his eyes, grabbed her hand and scrambled inside, slamming the door shut behind them.

Their successful attempt at breaking and entering fanned both hope and greed in their hearts. What sorts of treasures would greet them when they opened their eyes? 

…Apparently none. 

The sight in did not invoke gasps of shock and awe; it was just an ordinary cottage…not even that big of one. 

They stepped slowly into the room, looking around equally slowly. There was a kitchen on the left, a living room on the right. The décor was ordinary: wood floors and walls, a stone chimney with a nice fireplace, a stove, pots and pans hanging above it, couches and rocking chairs on a frayed carpet. 

Wilith put a finger to her lips, stepping forward. “I thought it would be more…”

“…Witchy?” Casirai finished her thought, walking in front of her, then spun around, “Thought there would be Leprechaun fingers”—he made his fingers dance—“hanging from the ceiling, and toads eyeballs”—he closed one eye and opened the other too wide—“in jars, and dragon scales”—he motioned around the room—“laying about?”

She pushed him, causing him to stumble, walking further past him into the cottage.

“Well yeah!” She crouched down to look inside a cabinet by the door. 

“Maybe she’s not forthcoming with her hobbies.” He shrugged, putting his hands on his hips. “Not everyone wants to be known as the town witch.”

“Except that everybody knows she’s the town witch.”

“…We’ll find something, I’m sure.” 

They set their bags down and walked up to one of the bookshelves by the entrance. He put a hand to his chin as he leaned down to observe them. Just books—and not even that witchy of ones—(like _How to Improve Yourself Three Important Ways_ Gilmar Keybrain. Casirai couldn’t help but think there were probably a lot more than three ways to do that.)

A few moments later he heard his sister’s footsteps beside him, and she promptly proceeded to start throwing books off the shelf. 

“Hey, whoa, what are you doing?!” He stood up. “I thought we were _stealing_ from her, not _vandalizing_ her! 

“Yeah, well, sometimes you gotta vandalize to be a proper thief. Have _you_ found anything worth stealing so far?”

“We’ve barely looked! She’s gonna _know_ someone was here if you tear apart her stuff—instead of the, more preferable, being pretty sure!”

“There’s gotta be a secret door somewhere!” She grunted as she moved on to the next shelf, continuing to toss the books out with he same regard she might an old rag. “And all the stories make it seem so easy to find the the one that opens the secret passage on the first try,” she muttered.

He rubbed his temple. “I think you put too much stock in fairy tales.”

After she finished un-housing all the books she was left sitting on the floor surrounded by a whirlwind of pages, looking thoroughly disappointed.

“Are you happy with yourself?” He put his hands on his hips, leaning down to talk to her, like a disappointed parent, “Now we gotta waste precious time putting all this—Where are you going?” 

Wilith had promptly stood and ran to the nearest sconce, and was attempting to turn it in an improper direction. It wasn’t budging. 

He stood up, rushing to her. “You’re gonna break something—or set this place on fire!” He grabbed her hand. 

“I’m telling you, there’s _gotta_ be a secret door _somewhere_!” Desperation crept into her voice. “Come on, we came all this way!” 

“Yes, but you _do_ understand why burning all the things worth stealing in the house is not a favorable option for us?”

“We can’t leave empty-handed, Cas!” Her grip on the sconce relaxed, and she turned to him, saying more seriously. “We _can’t_.” 

She was right, of course. They’d bet everything on this job.

His gaze softened and he let go of her hand. 

“Fine. Just…try not to get us scorched, alright?”

She nodded.

As she continued trying with the next sconce—then the painting, then pushing the couch out of alignment—Casirai stepped into the center of the room his eyes scanning it for anything out of the ordinary. 

If _he_ had something to hide he would put the key in the least obvious place, yes. But shifting bookshelves and sconces were almost cliché at this point…So what _was_ the least obvious thing?

Just then, as Wilith was concentrating hard on the rug beneath the couch, the resident cat pounced on her shoulders. 

“ _AHH!!_ CASIRAI _WHAT IS IT?!_ A CURSE?!” Wilith yelled. “ _GET IT OFF_!!”

He laughed. “Why yes it’s a most foul beast!” he said like they were knights going monster slaying in the forest, before reaching up and picking up the cat by the stomach. It scratched at him, and he dropped it on the ground, where it landed safely, hissing profusely. 

Wilith took a few deep breaths, then opened her eyes enough to assess her attacker. “A cat?” 

He smiled. “I’m pretty sure curses don’t pounce on you,” he said as he leaned down to observe the cat, who was now staring at him with great malevolence, swishing its tail. 

“Well I don’t know what they’re like!” She vigorously brushed the fur from her hair. “I mean, how many curses have _you_ experienced?”

“None. But I think I know enough not to think one is jumping on my head.”

“I thought witches had black cats.” She changed the subject, observing the fluffy white one before her. “…Do you think…” she said quietly. “…we got the wrong house?”

“No. I’m _positive_ this is the right one.” 

“Wait!” She grabbed his arm. “What if that—!”—She pointed at the cat, (who was now licking its paw and rubbing its head with it), and whispered emphatically, beginning to shake him— “Is her familiar! What if it’s transmitting a signal to its master right now!” She shook him harder. “Oh Casirai, _we gotta get outta here_!”

He sighed, “Even if it _is_ , we should be fine. There’s not much she can do once we’re out of here. That’s why we wore _these_ , remember?” He pointed to the mask over his eyes. “Besides, we haven’t even stolen anything yet.”

“Shhh! Not in front of the K-I-T-T-Y!” She pointed at the creature now sitting on the floor and licking its own butt. 

He sighed, twisting his arm from her grasp.

“We gotta hurry!” She ran into the bedroom, likely to demolish it too. 

He was about to restart his calmer search when he saw something; a glint out of the corner of his eye. 

He turned towards the cat, then squinted, a thought entering his brain.

Taking a few cautious steps up to the cat—who stared up at him with big, blue, cross-eyed gaze before resuming its grooming—he saw a chain around its neck, and on the chain glimmered a tiny key

He smirked. “The beast that guards the gates indeed.”

He knelt down on the floor before it. But it showed no signs of interest, only continued grooming itself. 

“Kitty, kitty!” he kissed. 

“If you’re playing with that spy instead of looking I’m gonna slug you.”

“Oh it’ll be useful, just you wait.”

When he tried to reach at its neck it got up and walked away.

He sighed, knowing he’d need something a little stronger than the promise of friendship to entice such a beast. He ventured into the kitchen to search for treats, but understandably they weren’t in plain sight. There was a potato sitting on the counter though. …Cats like potatoes, right? He grabbed it and placed it on a plate near the cat. 

Wilith was making an awful lot of noise, the whole place would probably be a pile of rubble by the time she was done with it. 

“Come here kitty. Come here! I’ve got a nice potato for you.”

The cat stared at him as if to say _I’m the one licking my butt…but you’re the moron_.

“If you’re quite finished being an idiot.” Wilith’s voice sounded beside him.

“Not now, Wilith, I—” 

When he looked up at her he saw she had retrieved her bag, and was holding his out to him, and when he looked past her into the bedroom, he saw the floorboards had been unearthed, except this time—(she had of course done this in the other rooms)—instead of just dirt below, there were stairs in the space left. 

He looked from the cat, to his sister, before standing up, brushing himself off, and clearing his throat.

She grabbed his arm and began dragging him towards the bedroom. 

“The cat had a key around it’s neck!” he protested. “Hey, we might need it in a second!”  
She pulled him to the edge of the staircase, where steps became blackness, handing him his bag. He took it, slinging it over his shoulder and staring down the steps. 

“Shall we?” held out his hand as if asking her to dance;

She took it and together they descended.

The sconces that lined the walls looked like gargoyles…or were they bats? Maybe demons? Whatever they were they had ugly faces with big squashed noses, and red flames in their mouths. 

“Now _this_ is what I’m talking about!” Wilith bounced happily along the steps, and he smiled after her. 

The path was much longer than they’d anticipated, and wound in different directions, ever sinking deeper beneath the earth. 

After the trek, the inklings of a room came into view…Something was shimmering. 

“ _Hell_ yeah!” Wilith exclaimed as they reached the doorway. 

Now _this_ was a witch’s lair. The room was dark and spooky, despite—(or perhaps because of)—the many sconces lining the walls. All sorts of curious and mysterious objects came into view. First it was many shelves full of potions and their numerous, questionable ingredients—(Casirai made sure to point out the jar of leprechaun fingers)—and a large cauldron. Then it was all the assorted brooms, staffs, and wands lined up neatly—“I didn’t know witches needed more than one,” Wilith had mused—And finally it was the many jeweled and precious oddities coating the walls; gleaming (but slightly dented) armor, golden bangles and gauntlets, necklaces, and sometimes even just jewels laying about, not to mention boxes and orbs and crystals…anything you could think of. 

“We did it!” Wilith cried, having adorned herself with mismatched jewelry and armor when he wasn’t looking. “Do you know what this means, Cas?!” She rushed up and took his hands in hers. 

“Uhh, that we’ll be rich?”

“That we’ll be so rich we won’t have to steal anymore! No more living like rats in the street! I daresay people will start wanting to steal from _us_!” 

He grinned. 

…That might be nice. 

She returned to her pilfering, and Casirai began shoveling assorted treasures into his bag. It was a few moments later when a pit began to grow in his stomach. 

As he reached for a bracelet—seemingly embellished with dragon scales—and images of dragons, and magic, came into his mind. At first the image was fond and inspiring, but in a moment its tone shifted in his mind. 

These things looked like priceless objects, but not necessarily magic; they hadn’t yet emitted any magical effects even as they were unceremoniously removed from their homes. He’d never been quite sure if he _believed_ in magic anyways. Certainly nothing magical had ever had happened to them. 

But…what if they _were_ magic? What would it mean then? They’d sell for more, for sure—that’s what they were counting on. But, if they _were_ …any and all of these objects could give off any number of powerful effects. Some incredible, some dangerous, and some…potentially irreversible. 

They’d picked this house for a reason. Picking pockets wouldn’t get them anywhere compared to a job like this. A job like _this_ had the potential to give them a life that was actually, you know, _livable_.

But it struck him that, having been blinded by the prospects…they didn’t consider if the job was entirely _safe._

“Having second thoughts, Rai-Rai?” He looked up to see Wilith standing there with her bangle-and-bracelet-encrusted hands on her hips. 

“No—I mean—It’s just—” He sighed. “It just struck me that this stuff is supposed to be, you know, magic.”

“Uh huh.” She said like a parent not altogether interested in hearing her child’s excuse when she just asked him to clean his room. 

“And magic is…you know…dangerous.”

“Uh huh.” She said in the same tone. “Why don’t you stop again when you discover that water is wet?”

“I’m serious, Wil! What if—What if we really _will_ be cursed? We have no idea what this stuff does! I just…I’ve got a bad feeling.”

She took slow and calculated steps towards him—(the jewels jangling with each)—anger barely concealed in her voice. “You’re telling me we went through _all_ this trouble, and you want to just leave it all behind”—She was very close now—“because of a _feeling_?”

He took a step back, looking away, rubbing the back of his neck. “Not-Not so much a feeling, just a—”

“A feeling?”

“I just! Bad things happen to people who mess with magic!”

“You know who else bad things happen to? _Poor. People_.” She smacked the back of her hand into her palm on each word. “I’m not losing my chance at untold riches because you wussed out at the last second. If you want to leave, fine. But you’re not invited to my parties. Where, I assure you, we will have unnecessarily tiny sandwiches, several far-too-attractive, semi-nude, people, and the music will be played by a troupe comprised solely of unicorns who have learned to harmonize their own farts!”

He took a step back, trying not to laugh at the image. He had to hold onto the shelf to catch his balance, causing something to fall off of it to the ground behind him. “Alright, alright! I’m sorry! I take it back!”

His heart gave a jolt as said shelf began to move of its own accord. He jumped away, nervous this irony at its best: the proof he was right, that he’d set off some booby trap, magical or no. 

But as the shelf moved, all it did was reveal a second, smaller room beyond the first. 

“I _told_ you!” She jabbed him in the ribs. “There’s _always_ a secret behind the shelves!”

A secret, yes, but there wasn’t much in this room. Though quantity of course isn’t everything: there was pedestal in the center, floating just above it was a necklace emitting some sort of force field. He resisted the urge to rub his eyes or pinch himself at the thought that he was seeing _real_ magic. 

He shook his head.

“Okay, I’m fine stealing everything else,”—He threw his thumb over his shoulder—“but”—He leaned his head towards his sister—“ _I_ ’ve read enough stories to know, if we want to live full and happy lives, _that’s_ the thing we _don’t_ want to touch.”

She said nothing, and when he turned towards her there was only a rush of wind by him. He cast his gaze to the necklace to see—

Her reaching for it.

“WHAT ARE YOU DOING YOU IDIOT?!” He ran to her.

When her hand grazed the force field he was sure they were done for…but it went through it just fine, she didn’t even recoil or wince in pain.

He grabbed her arm, wrenching it away all the same.

“ _Are you insane_?!” he shrieked. “To say nothing of the _rest_ of the objects in here, _that_ thing is _clearly_ dangerous! It’s booby trapped, or-or worse! You’re gonna get us _killed!”_

She smirked, entirely unperturbed. “Aren’t the things worth hiding and booby trapping the things most worth stealing? This thing was in a secret room, _within_ a secret room. If that doesn’t scream big money, I don’t know what does.” 

“No. _No!_ —I mean, they _are_ —but we have enough to set us up for a lifetime already! Besides, she’s been pretty crafty, I mean, come on, maybe it’s a decoy! I’m not dyin’ for a decoy!” 

“Yeah maybe. But isn’t it worth trying if its potentially that valuable? When will we ever get this chance again?!” 

“Uhh never, cuz we’ll be _dead_!” 

“We’ll be fine. They don’t call us Draikota’s finest thieves for nothing!” 

“Nobody calls us that!” 

“Well…really, what have we got to lose?” 

_—(Just each other)—_

“Wil—” He pulled her away— 

But her other hand was already enclosed around the necklace. 

**Author's Note:**

> The tone changed rather drastically from the original and I'm not sure why XD The original story was very serious, and I'm not a person who's first inclination is generally to write comedy, so I don't know where this came from! I'm glad though. Comedy is something I'm still trying very hard to learn so I think this'll be a great exercise with that and I am quite proud of it! 
> 
> If there was anything you thought was funny I'd love to hear it!! And honestly you can tell me if you thought something was cringey too, please try to be polite, but I would love help getting better at it!! 
> 
> I'm the kind of person who absolutely hates it when authors don't tell you what their characters look like, and don't do so quickly, so I am being such a huge hypocrite here. I'm not super attached to their appearances, I originally imagined Wilith as having somewhat long, dark brown hair, and green eyes, and Casirai having kind of strawberry blonde hair. But I would really love to have them be POC in this new version, I'm just not sure I can because "Wilith" kind of sounds white XD...I mean, I guess we're in a fantasy land so they can have whatever names they want, but still... 
> 
> Lastly, I'm the kind of person who generally likes it when people use more modern language even in fantasy/medieval stories, just because its easier to understand (maybe peppering in some things like changing our common idioms to fit their world/times), and it's way too much work to commit to making sure every line of dialogue sounds properly properly old english-y (but still understandable) for a perfectionist like me, so that's why they talk the way they do.


End file.
